Conversations
by Raykushi
Summary: One-shot. The gang have a routine morning on the farm, now that Leo is back. Takes place not long after Season 3 Ep 1 "Within the Woods."


Title: Conversations

Author: Raykushi

Disclaimer: Rights to TMNT belong to Nickelodeon and others. This is a fan piece only and no monetary gain comes from its publication.

Incarnation: 2012 tv show

Summary: Taking place not long after Season 3 Ep 1 "Within the Woods." The gang have a routine morning on the farm, now that Leo is back.

Warnings/Rating: None/G

Word count: 3,648

Author's Notes: This fic was an experiment in trying to write multiple conversations occurring between characters at the same time, and having the separate scenes come together at the end. Please do not distribute or share without permission.

**Conversations**

"And this one's Cluckzilla, and that one's Amber, and that's Mrs. Hennyworth—"

"How do you tell them apart?" The two brothers were out by the barn. Leonardo, seated on a bale of hay that had been left by the barn doors, regarded the cluster of birds around his younger brother's feet.

"Dude, that's easy. Cluckzilla's the biggest—" Michelangelo pointed to one chicken that didn't look any different than the rest. "And Amber is Mrs. Hennyworth's daughter. And El Diablo here...uh oh." Mikey stopped tossing feed across the grass as the chickens suddenly turned to look up at him, as if by some signal. He took a step back uncertainly.

With a menacing flutter of wings, the chickens began to advance on the turtle.

"Bad chickens, bad chickens!" Mikey defensively held the feed bag out in front of him, retreating toward Leo's position in the shadow of the barn.

Leonardo shook his head at his brother. "Mikey, they're chickens, not Kraang." He reached out and snagged the feed bag from Michelangelo's hands, tossing a handful of seed away from their position. The chickens stopped their stalking and tipped their heads left and right, studying this interloper in their normal morning routine. Leo tossed another handful in a different direction and the flock was decided. They split up and fluttered across the grass to attack their breakfast in smaller groups, abandoning their stalking.

Mikey pouted. "They never chase Raph."

. ~ . ~ .

"Don't open the fridge if you don't have to," Donatello automatically said when he heard footsteps approaching his corner of the kitchen.

The footsteps stopped, no doubt observing the lower half of his body sticking out from behind the pale yellow refrigerator as he worked on the back of it. Above the sound of his tools prodding the appliance's innards, there was a distressed meowing coming from the freezer.

"The cat's making a racket." It was Raph's voice.

"Yes. She's upset because this thing died _again_," Donnie growled, his voice heavy with frustration.

"This is the third time in two weeks. Think we should just get a new one?"

Donatello pushed his upper body up into a sitting position to momentarily glare at Raphael around the edge of the fridge. "And just how do you propose I do that?" he snorted. "There's not exactly a junkyard around here I can swing by!"

The cat in the freezer mewed plaintively and pawed at the door.

"Well is she gonna be all right?" Raphael asked.

There was a grunt behind the fridge as Donnie pulled on something that was stuck. "She'll be—guh—fine. Just don't—open the door—urk—so the cold air'll stay in—until I fix it." Instead of cursing at the part, Donatello began muttering about Darwin under his breath in a dark tone of voice. Then he yelped and there was the metallic twang of something breaking loose.

Raphael looked carefully at the floor in front of the fridge, at the spread of scuffed, dusty refrigerator parts and the tools spilling out of Don's toolbox. It looked like he had been busy for a while.

"Well, good luck with that," Raph said, turning and leaving the kitchen.

. ~ . ~ .

"Well wouldja lookit that."

Casey Jones brazenly stepped up to an old fence that looked like it might be electrified, or might once have been, judging by the thick white cables that were strung across the wooden posts. When nothing popped or sparked near his presence, April cautiously joined him.

On the other side of the fence three horses were grazing no more than twenty feet away from where the teenagers stood, two of them with copper-brown coats like new pennies and one painted with white. As April had expected, the four-mile hike through the woods had ended at the perimeter of one of her neighbor's fields. She and Casey had set out this morning to find the edge of her family's property. April's memories were almost ten years old; she wanted to be absolutely sure how much room they had to maneuver now that they had four active mutant turtles at the old farm house.

The fence before them stretched in both directions, enclosing many acres of rolling field for the horses to enjoy. It included a grove of trees like a personal mini forest, and a gulley in the middle with a stream running through it. "We should show Mikey sometime," April said, watching the horses with a smile. "He'd love them." She held out her hand and clicked her tongue, trying to get the animals' attention. One of the horses raised its head and looked at her briefly, then went back to grazing.

"I dunno, I think this might be a little too close, Red." Casey pointed.

April followed his finger and saw on the far side of the field a smudge of red and beige: a barn and a one-story farm house. They were just thumbnails in the distance across the wide fenced-in field, but she immediately agreed with Casey. Too close. This wasn't the time to take chances. Not with the way things were now.

. ~ . ~ .

With the empty feed bag hanging off one arm, Michelangelo followed his brother back toward the house. Their progress was slowed by the crutch Leo was forced to use. Mikey matched his steps and silently assured himself that soon they wouldn't be crossing the lawn at a snail's pace. Leo was getting better.

At the porch Mikey jumped the stairs in a leap and grabbed the doorknob. But he stopped when he heard Leonardo turning aside, taking a seat on one of the old chairs that had been dragged outside to enjoy the warm evenings they'd been having lately. "Want to come watch Crognard the Barbarian with me?" he invited.

"In a while. I'm going to meditate first. Well, I'm going to give it a try." Leonardo carefully set his crutch aside and settled back into a comfortable position.

Mikey hesitated. With a last gaze of longing at the front door (and its tantalizing promise of tv within), he turned away and plopped himself down into the empty chair beside Leo and tossed the empty feed bag by the door. "Okay. I'll do it too."

"What?" Cobalt eyes widened in shock. Even Master Splinter had given up trying to get Michelangelo to meditate after the twelfth time the youngest turtle started in on how breakdancing was "_like_ meditating."

Mikey looked back at him blankly. "What what?"

The expression on Leonardo's face morphed all at once from incredulous to suspicious. "Mikey," he said slowly, "you're not staying out here just to keep an eye on me, are you?" His brother just looked confused, and Leo's shoulders squared in preparation to handle an unpleasant duty. "Look," he began, "it's not that I don't appreciate the concern, but I'm not going to be very happy if everybody else elected you to follow me around all morning and watch me. I don't need a babysitter just because I—"

"Dude!" Michelangelo objected. "It's not like that! Geez, forgive me for wanting to spend time with my brother who's been out of commission for, like, forever!" He crossed his arms over his chest and glared until Leo's suspicion was tempered with guilt.

Leonardo grimaced and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, already regretting the accusation. "I'm sorry, Mikey. A lot's been going on."

"Yeah, well, that was still a pretty low blow, bro. I can't believe you thought I had interior motives!" Michelangelo's eyes narrowed as Leo made a slight noise. "What?"

Leo's lips twitched again. "Nothing. I apologize for accusing you of interior motives." He said this with a very straight face. When it looked like Mikey was coming around to forgiving him, he added, "You can stay if that's what you want."

"It is!"

"All right." Leonardo closed his eyes, inhaled slowly through his nose as he allowed each set of muscles in his body to settle into a relaxed state one by one, starting with his feet and working upward. He was already feeling unsettled, knowing he couldn't take his normal meditative position with his injuries. Like every moment of the waking day, the meditation was reminding him of what had happened in New York. But he wouldn't avoid thinking of it, he would face the thoughts of failure and attempt meditating anyway—

"Psst! Leo! Are you doing it yet?"

"Mikey..."

. ~ . ~ .

"Donnie. Hey. Donnie. Hey, Earth to brainiac!"

"What!?" Donatello yanked himself out from behind the fridge, glaring heavily with a face smudged black with dirt and grime. Dust bunnies clung to the ends of his mask tails. "Raph, I'm kinda bu—" He stopped and then narrowed his eyes at the sight of his brother's smirk. Then he lowered his eyes to the hand Raphael held out toward him.

With a gasp Donatello shot upright and snatched the round metal object out of Raphael's palm. "Where'd you get a condenser fan motor!?"

Raph grinned, proud of the find. "There's a bucket of old parts in the barn."

"I already checked there," Donatello retorted, but barely paying attention as he turned the part over in his hands, inspecting it.

Raphael shrugged. "I wanted to hang up a punching bag. I had to move a bunch of crud and there was more crud buried under that crud."

"This is in amazing condition for its age," the other turtle muttered to himself. He grabbed a wrench from the black toolbox on the floor and scooted back behind the fridge.

"You're welcome," Raphael snorted, but Donatello didn't appear to hear him.

He thought about leaving Donnie to his work. Instead Raph found himself waiting, leaning against the wall next to the fridge, watching his brother's lanky legs as they poked out from behind the old unit. "So..."

Donatello didn't respond to the lure, muttering about the fit of the motor, so Raph tried again. "Hey, Don. When do you think Leo's going to be back to normal?"

Donatello's foot twitched as he made adjustments. Distracted, he opined, "I anticipate another five months of recovery time before he's functioning normally."

Raph groaned. "That long?"

Donnie paused in his alterations and looked around the edge of the fridge again so he could meet Raphael's eyes. "He was unconscious for three months, Raph. Three months. That's not a healing sleep, that's a coma."

The shorter turtle winced. None of them had used the "c" word while Leo had been out, and he would have preferred it if Don hadn't used it at all. "But he's awake now," Raph argued. "And you were the one who said how important it was for him to wake up on his own."

"I did. It was. I'm just saying—ow!" He hissed and banged on something behind the fridge. "I'm just saying it's going to take a while for him to get back to normal." He paused. "Of course, I could be wrong. Remember when we were younger and I told Leo that I anticipated it would take him a week to master _moji gamae_?"

Raph chucked. "And he got it right that day, just to prove you wrong."

"Just to prove he could do it," Donnie corrected him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to let him push himself too fast right now, not until he's ready. I've been keeping an eye on him."

"Heh. I know." Donatello was glad Raph couldn't see the grin on his face. He and Mikey were keeping a running tally of how many different "mother hen" jokes they could come up with outside of Raph's hearing.

"Hey, hand me the Phillips head?" Don waited until he heard footsteps approach the toolbox on the floor in front of the fridge. "Red handle." The screwdriver appeared over his head and he grabbed it. "Thanks."

Instead of moving away, Raphael stayed within arm's reach to pass him other tools and parts. "How's it coming?" he asked.

"Won't be too long now. That was the part I was having trouble repairing." Then he growled as he fought against the hold of rust and time on tiny screws and barked his knuckles for his efforts. "Ow! And I swear, nothing else better happen to this fridge after this!"

. ~ . ~ .

By some signal that went unnoticed by April and Casey, two of the horses abandoned their grazing, throwing up their heads to scent the wind. The painted one pawed the ground with one hoof and then leaped forward into motion, followed closely by the second. April and Casey tensed until it became apparent that the horses were only racing each other. Neck and neck they thundered past the spot where April and Casey stood, piston legs and giant barrel-shaped bodies vibrating the ground under the two teenagers' sneakers. Reaching a thick patch of turf, both of the heavy animals folded their legs and flung themselves down on the ground, rolling in the grass like a pair of playful puppies with long legs raised up in the air.

April had to laugh at the antics. "I like this," she said. "It reminds me that things can still be normal."

"Yeah?" He looked at her with the usual Casey Jones expression, a faintly superior smirk as if you should be thankful to have a piece of his valuable attention.

April was instead watching the horses play. "They don't care that there's an alien invasion. That people are scrambling to defend themselves and the planet. That everyone must be re-writing the history and science books even as we speak. The horses don't care about any of that."

"But they won't be here."

April turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"If we don't do something, I mean. The Kraang are going to ruin everything," Casey reminded her, gesturing to the field before them. "If they win there won't be any horses, trees or grass left. Or chickens or cats or people or anything."

The pair of horses, abruptly done goofing off, stood up together and shook their sleek coats free of loose strands of grass. Then they wandered back across the field the way they had come, back toward their third who was still grazing. "Yeah," said April quietly. "That's why we have to do something."

"You got that right."

During their last hike, the two of them had debated for some time about going to the North Hampton police. They wouldn't say anything about the turtles, of course; they had discussed a whole story to tell the authorities. How they were just two kids from New York. How coincidence had put them near the aliens a few times in the past, and they had taken it upon themselves to thwart their attempts whenever they could. How eventually the invasion had happened, then they had been separated from their parents and forced to leave New York City.

No mention of any mutants that knew ninjutsu.

Then they would give the police all the information they knew about the Kraang, their weaknesses and what worked effectively against them. And hope that it would be enough to help the armed forces that were surely out there, marshaling to fight the alien menace.

From his expression, Casey was remembering that discussion just as she was. "You remember what we talked about before?" she asked him. "Have you changed your mind?"

Casey shook his head. "When was the last time you heard of a battle in history where they let a kid help out, Red?"

April—History not being her favorite subject—admitted that if there was an example that existed, she didn't know of it.

"At best," he snorted, "they'll tell us we're crazy, pat our heads, and send us off to be wards of the state 'cuz we're underage."

She sighed. "And at worst, they'll let us go and then trail us back here, and find the guys. And that's the last thing we need."

"Right. Nah, we've got to go back and do this on our own." Casey looked pleased. He had never liked authority anyway.

"As soon as Leo's well enough."

"Do you think we have time to wait that long? He's still got a ways to go."

April looked out across the pasture once more. The horses continued to ignore their presence, content in their small world that didn't go beyond the fence. "We don't have a choice," she said finally.

Casey showed he agreed with a single nod of his head. "Come on, let's get back."

. ~ . ~ .

Mikey kicked his legs silently, watching Leonardo's impassive face. He had given up on trying to meditate hours ago. Or minutes ago. Or maybe days. He wasn't sure, but man, it felt like he had been sitting here forever! How did Leonardo do it!?

Even bored out of his mind, though, Mickey was glad he had stayed. Sitting with Leo felt like sitting with Master Splinter. That thought hurt a little, but he still liked it.

It was hard for Michelangelo to think about Master Splinter. Oh, he was 100% sure he was alive. There was no question about that. Like Raph said, Splinter was the greatest ninja master of the century. But there hadn't been time to leave any hint or message for their sensei when they fled the lair and then New York City. That meant not only did they not know where Splinter was now, he had no idea where _they_ were and that they were okay.

That was the part that was hardest to think about.

Splinter would be worried about Leonardo if he saw him now. Mikey watched his older brother's quiet breathing, taking note of bruises up his arms that were fading to a normal green color and new slashes that were joining older, healed scars on his plastron. His mask hid the bruised-looking flesh under his eyes. He looked loads better than when he first woke up, though, and that encouraged the younger brother.

Mikey tapped his fingertips on his knee pads, resisting the urge to speak. Then he promptly tossed that aside and decided to ask Leo about Master Splinter. He wanted to hear Leonardo say that of course he believed their father was okay, and that they were going to go find him when it was time to go back to New York. If Leo said it, it had to come true.

The sound of the front door opening cut Mikey off before he could even start, and he looked up to see Donnie and Raph coming out of the farm house. Donatello had a rag in his hands, rubbing black grime off his fingers, and he was looking over his shoulder at the red-masked turtle.

"—all I'm saying is, now that it's back up and running, if anything _else_ happens to it I'm going to have a _nervous break down_!"

"So, just another day for you, then?"

"Oh ha, ha."

"Guys, shhh!" Mikey held a finger up to his lips. "Leo's meditating!"

"Was meditating." Leo opened his eyes.

The other two drifted over and joined their brothers where they were sitting on the far end of the porch. "Sorry, Leo," Donatello apologized, contrite.

He shook his head. "It's okay, it wasn't really working anyway." He looked frustrated. "I can't do it like I used to."

Raph leaned against the porch railing and crossed his arms. "Give yourself a break. You'll get it back."

"Raph's right. With time there's no reason you shouldn't be able to—" Like a hound catching a scent, Donatello suddenly stopped talking and stood up straight, looking across the lawn. April and Casey were coming out of the woods, having returned from some exploratory mission that April had mentioned earlier that morning. They had hiked a long way, if the mud on their jeans and the leaves stuck in their hair were any indication. The tall turtle leaped off the porch by vaulting straight over the railing, forgoing the stairs. He crossed the field toward the two humans with one hand raised in greeting. "April! Welcome back!"

"Hey, Donnie," she returned, when they were close enough for conversation without shouting. "Did something break down?"

"Huh?" He looked down at his hands, realized belatedly that he had cleaned them but not anywhere else. Dust and dirt clung to his chest and probably the rest of him as well. "Oh. Oops. Yeah, I fixed the fridge again." He lifted a clean corner of the rag and pushed his mask up to his forehead to wipe his face.

Casey's obnoxious laughter drifted across the yard. "You look like a raccoon!"

"Better than a swamp reject, Jones."

The remaining brothers watched as Casey and Donatello started arguing and April tried to break them up, the scene so common by now that none of them commented.

The sight of his friends facing off head-to-head gave Raphael inspiration, though. He grabbed Michelangelo's shoulder and propelled him out of his chair and toward the stairs. "Come on, let's practice."

Mikey groaned. "Practice? Again? That's all we do!"

Raph snorted. "Then you'd think you'd be better at it by now. Go on." He shoved until Mikey trotted down the stairs and headed for the others, waving his arms and announcing the new agenda for the remainder of the morning. Then Raph paused and looked over his shoulder. "You want to join in, Leo?"

The seated turtle shook his head. "Not yet." He tried to say it simply, like stating a fact, but he couldn't help the disappointment he felt.

Raphael nodded as if expecting it. "Then you take Master Splinter's position," he said. "Watch our forms." He didn't wait for a reply, leaping off the top step and drawing his sai as he ran out onto the front lawn, joining the others as they fanned out across the grass.

Leonardo sat up straight as Raphael's words sunk in, his dull eyes lightening. He grabbed his crutch and thumped down the stairs after his brothers.


End file.
